


Patient Love

by arrowsong



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 22:15:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3545690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrowsong/pseuds/arrowsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the imagine:  Imagine being Thranduil's maid, and one day he becomes furious with you for something you did wrong, only to realize later he is in love with you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patient Love

**Author's Note:**

> Mir = Jewel
> 
> Also, been working on an alternate ending to this fic that is more, shall we say, bitter sweet? But here is the fluffy original ending.

“Where is King Thranduil’s breakfast?” you holler into the busy, bustling kitchens; demanding the kitchen staff have his meal brought to you immediately. Things had to run smoothly, today of all days. Tonight your king was to entertain envoys from all the Elven lands as he host his first Council of the Elves meeting as king, and you would not tolerate anything sub par of excellence.

“So sorry to keep you and the king waiting, Calemirien,” one of the younger serving elves, Feriedis, apologized to you as you prepared the silver gilded tray with the usual adornments. It was the little things, you knew, the king appreciated. “The plate will be ready in just a moment, the cook has had to descend into the pantry for a fresh pot of honey, as well as a fresh cask of wine for the King’s personal consumption.”

“You made sure to save at least four casks of wine for his Majesty?” you ask coolly. No matter what, the King must maintain his personal supply.

“Yes, Ma’am,” the young she-elf nodded in your direction. “All casks dated prior to the second age have been prepared for tonight, with six set aside for his Majesty’s personal use.”

“Nothing but the best of the best for our guests,” you smile appreciatively. King Thranduil was pulling out all the stops for tonight’s dinner, in a bid to show his elven kin the majesty and splendour of the Woodlands, and of course the great generosity of its king.

“Here’s his majesty’s breakfast,” Cendirion, your second in command, passed you a plate with the usual on it. “And here is his morning wine,” he proceeded to hand you a goblet filled to the brim with the potent, nearly clear looking wine. It was too early for his usual red, besides the king preferred something light and fruity in the morning to accompany his meal of seasonal berries, fresh cream, rolled oats and honeyed seeds.

You bow slightly in Cendirion’s direction as he returned the gesture. All staff bowed when you entered the room. As head of staff you were considered the most powerful elf in the palace behind the king himself. Whenever somebody needed something, more candles in their chambers, fresh inkpots for their quills, their sword or armour polished, they all turned to you.

“I set aside a small plate for yourself as well Calemirien – for when you have a chance to eat, that is,” he added sheepishly. Everyone in the King’s employ worked closely together, and took care of one another – you were united in you service to the King.

Thanking Cendirion for the plate, and for his small kindness, you set out from the kitchens to the king’s personal chambers to deliver his breakfast. Silently, you hoped he would not take notice of your delay, though even if he did, you knew king was more likely to forgive you than Cendirion for your tardiness.

You had been faithfully by Thranduil’s side for over five hundred years now as his head of house, that did not factor in the three hundred you spent climbing the professional ladder. You once started out as nothing more than his chambermaid, selected for the then prince by his father when he visited your home in Lothlorien. As such you developed a very close relationship with the king, so that on top of all your other duties you still served him personally, at his behest.

Winding your way through the narrow corridors, and back passages, you found yourself in front of a pair of large, impressive, hand carved, oak doors. Balancing the tray in one hand, careful not to spill a single drop of wine, you gently rap on the door with the crook of your finger, announcing your presence, before opening the door. Allowing yourself in you close the door behind you. The room was empty.  _The king must be bathing_ , you figure.

Softly you hum to yourself, a lullaby of your homeland – one your mother used to sing when you were an elfling – to keep yourself company while you work. Pale rays of autumn sun drifted into the chambers as you cross the room to place the tray on the small corner table the King at which usually took his morning meal when he did not feel like eating in the Grand Hall. Most days he preferred eating his breakfast in the comforts of his chambers, chatting idly with you as you tidied out of habit. He had new chambermaids for such work now, but you did not mind keeping your hands busy as the king spoke. You took pride in knowing that you were not only his head of staff, but also the king’s personal confidant.

Looking around you see the King’s large, plush bed had already been made, his sleeping attire was cleaned from where he usually deposited it on the floor, and his dressing robe was missing. The King was still at his morning bath you confirmed. Relieved you set the table so Thranduil’s meal would be ready for him when he arrived.

“You are in a good mood this morning,” the familiar, rich voice of your king greeted you from behind.

“Your majesty,” you turn to greet your king warmly, with a deep curtsey. He was dressed handsomely in silver robes; so pale it looked to have been fashioned from moonlight itself, matching the long hair he wore loosely around his shoulders. “What gave me away?” you smile cheerily, secretly pleased in knowing that your relationship with the king worked both ways. As well as you knew him, he knew you in turn, though you would never be so bold as to call what you had together friendship. You were still, and always would be, his servant.

“You always hum when you are pleased,” he answers with a rare smile. The one he always seemed to save for your presence, and yours alone.

“If it displeases your grace, I can stop,” you offer quickly. Half the time you didn’t even realize you were humming. It just came naturally to you, like breathing.

“No, by all means, continue. After so many years together I’ve grown somewhat accustomed to your humming.  At least one of us should be in a  good mood”

“As your majesty wishes.” You clear away the untouched plate of last night’s meal still left on the table. “You hardly touched your dinner,” you observe before ringing for one of the other maids to come return the plate to the kitchens. “You need to eat, your Grace,” you scold mildly.

“You presume to give orders to your king?” replied Thranduil sitting at the table. He wasn’t angry, he sounded more amused than anything.

“I presume nothing,” you retort. “But you need to keep your strength up, and you do that by eating. You are a good king, your people love you, and we’d like to love you for a long time.”

“If I didn’t know you better Cala, I might think you were trying to flatter me,” he chuckled softly before taking a sip of wine.

“Then perhaps it is a good thing you know me better,” you reply with a secretive little smile.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” mused Thranduil, keeping his head turned to keep the simple smile on his face hidden from your sight.

“Have you completed all the preparations for tonight?” Thranduil inquired, finishing the last of his breakfast, showing the empty dishes for your inspection. An impish smile flickered behind his eyes, as he looked your way.

“Yes, your majesty. All the linens in the guest chambers have been cleaned and changed. All the candles have been replaced in Lord Elrond’s chambers, and several casks of Dorwinion wine have been brought up from the cellar in preparation for tonight’s feast,” you recite your list of duties off for the king proudly, standing at attention you toyed with your fingers behind your back.

“Very well. Thank you, Cala.” A small wave of his hand allowed you to relax your posture slightly.

“If that is all you require your majesty, I should go ensure the chambers for Haldir, are ready.”

“You and Haldir share a history – do you not?” wondered the King with a thin, exasperated smile.

“Yes, your grace,” you agree with a slight nod. “Haldir and I grew up together in Lothlorien, until I entered your father’s service and relocated here,” you reply keeping your head bowed.

“Hmm, well I suspect it will be a happy reunion for you then,” Thranduil mused. “Regardless, have someone else to do it. I have need of you here. I wish to rehearse my speech of welcome, and I require your help to finish dressing for the feast,” Thranduil commanded.

“Wouldn’t you prefer I send for one of your advisors – surely they are better suited for such matters,” you offer as an alternative. You didn’t mind listening to the King’s speech; he had a pleasant voice, like warmed honey drizzled on summer berries, but you had no experience dealing with the affairs of court aside from the matters Thranduil discussed with you in the privacy of his chambers when you helped him disrobe for the night.

“Are you defying your King’s order?” he challenged playfully, raising one of his dark brows.

“Not at all, your Grace,” you bow quickly, flustered, babbling your apologies. “I meant no offense, only that your advisors have had extensive training in these areas, whereas I have no experience in dealing with affairs of state.”

“Don’t be ridiculous Cala, I complain to you about court business often enough, I suspect you know more than most of my advisors combined. Besides, I prefer your company – you are the only one I can trust to be honest with me, even when I don’t like it. You are never afraid to express your opinion,” he eyed you curiously, noting the faint scarlet paint your cheeks. “Relax Cala, it’s a compliment,” he scolds faintly with a light-hearted smile. “As a King, and even as a prince, opinions are not to be expressed freely. Everything you say carries a certain weight, and must always be carefully calculated. I envy your freedom.”

“As you wish, your majesty,” you bow your head dutifully. Ducking out into the servants corridor momentarily you pass along the orders to the first servant you come across before dutifully returning by your King’s side. “So lets hear this speech that will leave your guests in awe,” you goad with a kind smile as you begin fussing with his robes.

The robes were of a stunning material, and of regal quality on their own, but they lacked any and all adornments. Thranduil often had you pick out the broaches, rings, and whatever other accessories you deemed suitable for him to wear.  _“Your eyes are better suited for such tasks than mine,”_  he explained the first time he asked for your help. He’d been referring to the numerous pins decorating your hair, and the necklace you wore faithfully. You may be a servant, but that did not mean you could not take pride in your appearance. Just because you didn’t wear the fine silk dresses didn’t mean you were any less a lady, besides Thranduil always ensured his staff dressed finely enough.

Striding over to the drawers filled with expensive gems, and kingly jewels you open them and began taking stock. There was so much to choose from, that was always the problem. Looking back over your shoulder, you smile as you begin selecting various baubles to work with. The pale shade of the fabric left colour choices wide open for you. You decided to use dark crimsons, and ambers, working off the colours of the late autumn leaves; it would set the tone for the council meeting.

As you worked, fastening bunches of fabric here placing broaches there; Thranduil recited his speech, admiring himself in the three way mirror as you worked. Your king’s vanity was of no surprise, least of all to you. You worked that much harder to ensure that his appearance was worthy of his pride.

After he finished the speech all that was left to do was to select a crown. No doubt Elrond and Lindir would be wearing their usual circlets of fine gold and silver. The elves from Lothlorien seldom wore crowns or circlets with the exception of the Lady Galadriel. No matter what, as host, Thranduil had to stand out, his crown had set him above his guests.

“Perfect,” you step back and admire your work after gently placing the crown of twigs and seasonal berries on your king’s head. “Now you look like a King,” you smile warmly in his direction.

“And do I sound like a King?” he wondered, trying to keep the intense vulnerability from his wavering voice. Not long ago his father ruled over the Woodland realm, as its king, until he sailed for the undying lands. The journey took Thranduil by surprise, and the duties of king were still new to him as he attempted to uphold his father’s legacy.  Though he tried to hide such insecurities, you still saw him as he was, but you never doubted he would come into his own, eventually.

“In every way, your grace,” you assure him with a kind smile. “As I said before; you will leave your audience in awe. You just need to remember to speak calmly, pause every now and then to breathe, and show them the same confidence you just showed me. You do all that and everything will go splendidly.”

“Thank you Cala,” his gaze lingered on you a little longer than usual as he smiled fondly in your direction. The enchantment was soon broken as he blinked quickly, “I should let you return to your duties in ensuring our guests are comfortable once they arrive. Will I see you tonight at the feast?”

“As though I would let your grace face his guests alone,” you assure him with a mischievous grin. “I will be by your side, ready to pour the wine at a seconds notice,” you promise before taking your leave of the king, and continue with your duties.

* * *

 

That night the conversation flowed a freely as the wine. As predicted, the king’s speech of welcome was warmly received by all who came to greet the new king for his first Council of the Elves meeting. Everyone complimented him on his grace, eloquence, and the certain way he had with words. With every compliment paid, Thranduil’s eyes sought you out in the crowd, and a secret smile tugged at his lips as his eyes caught yours; you spoke not a word, and kept your eyes down cast, as a knowing smile split your face.

When the festivities were over for the night, and the business set to begin, you stood off to the corner, waiting patiently to be summoned when someone needed their goblet refilled. Haldir spotted you immediately, and smiled warmly in your direction. He wasted no time in making his way over to you, and pay compliment on your dress, “You look every bit as lovely as I remember Mir,” he smiled using the same childish nickname he used back when you were just elflings. “You always did look good in green, if memory serves correctly,” he commented on the particular shade of your dress.

“And you were always quite the flirt, if memory serves correctly,” you tease him back with an impish grin. He was more handsome now than you remembered; though you had not seen him since you left Lothlorien all those years ago. You’d both grown into your elven features, and done quite well for yourselves given your humble beginnings. He was now the Marchwarden of Lothlorien, and you were the head of a king’s household staff.

“Only with you, Mir,” he gave you another flash of his perfect smile before returning to his seat at the council table.

The candles illuminating the meeting hall burned long into the night, casting flickering shadows against the wall. Many topics had been discussed, and business was nearing a close, mercifully. The hour was late, and while you had managed to sneak a few bites during the feast you had yet to have a proper meal.  All of that mixed the busy day left you feeling weary, but you let no sign of your exhaustion show.  As far as they were concerned you were as bright and fresh as the spring bloom.

You were grateful you had the kitchen staff bring up several more casks of wine. You were all but certain the council had drunken their way through your initial estimate within the first hour of the meeting, and that was several hours ago. The only matter of business that remained was the subject of securing alliances.

The council sought to secure alliances between the three ruling elven kingdoms through marriage; the only question on everyone’s tongues was, who? Who would be the first to marry, and what alliance would be formed through that union?

* * *

 

The topic of marriage set the new king on edge. Prior to his accession to the throne his father had been pressuring him to find someone to marry, who would bear him children, who would sit by his side and rule over the Woodland Realms with him. Every time his father pressed the matter Thranduil fought back, insisting he would not marry for politics, that it had to be for love, and no such Princess or Lady had yet to catch his eye.  In truth, he was content living his life the way it was with the only woman actively present in his life being Cala.

His father hated that he’d given his chambermaid a nickname. It made their relationship less professional, almost personal. Princes were not supposed to spend their days chatting, and teasing the help. Thranduil insisted that with Cala it was different. She wasn’t just the help. She was his friend, or at least, the closest thing he’d ever have to a friend. He felt as though he could tell her anything – and he did. She listened to him, with her quiet, tender smiles.  She offered him thoughtful advice where she could, and her unconditional support where she could not. His father promoted Cala to Head of House in attempts of severing Thranduil’s friendship with her, but the attempt failed miserably, and seemed to only make their bond stronger.

Feeling the same uneasy feeling of restlessness clawing at the pits of his stomach, turning his words to ash in his mouth at the prospect of marriage, Thranduil snapped his fingers, summoning Cala to bring the wine. He’d also noticed the way in which Haldir, the Marchwarden from Lothlorien failed to take his eyes off Cala whenever she was near by. He wondered if they had courted before she left to enter his father’s, and subsequently his, service. Still, even with Haldir and his attempted distractions, Cala was as disciplined and faithful as ever. She was by his side in seconds, with a calm yet pleasant smile as she refilled his glass.

Thranduil looked up and gave her a look that he knew only she could read, saying ‘can you believe all this?’

You returned his look with a small smile he took to mean, ‘you’re doing wonderful, just hold in there a bit longer.’

“King Thranduil, have you met Lady Celebrian?” inquired Haldir. “She is the daughter of our Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. She is about your age,” he added.

Thranduil gulped down his wine faster than intended, and attempted to keep himself from choking. He sat in silence, his thoughts lost in a panic. He knew what Haldir was not so subtly suggesting, that he should be the one to marry Lady Celebrian. He was sure she was perfectly lovely – but he had no interest in marrying her.

“It’s a smart match,” he heard Cala agree while refilling Haldir’s empty goblet. “Then when your children come of age they might be married to noble houses in both Imladris and Lothlorien, securing the alliance once and for all.”

“What?” he hissed.

* * *

 

It took a second for the realization of your error to take hold. Had you actually just spoken out loud? Your cheeks burned and you broke out into a cold sweat at the thought of your mistake. You were a servant, you were meant to been seen, but not heard. You thought you’d just been saying such things in your head, but you could tell from the looks on everyone’s faces that had not been the case. The pitcher shook slightly in yours hands as you tried to calm yourself.

“The Lady makes an excellent point,” spoke one of the envoys from Lothlorien. Amathon was his name, if you remembered correctly.

“And tell us my lady, who might you be?” pondered Lord Elrond, taking great interest in you all of a sudden, with a kind smile.

“Lord Elrond, My lords, may I present Calemirien,” Haldir stood immediately to make the introduction between you and the Lord of Imladris, as well as the rest of the council of envoys. “Calemirien and I were elflings together in the forests of Lothlorien before King Oropher selected her to enter his service as maid to his son, now King, Thranduil.”

You curtsey, and take Elrond’s extended hand. “My Lord,” you say in a hushed tone, actively avoiding your king’s gaze.

“A maid from Lothlorien in the king’s service here in the Woodland Realm how interesting,” mused Elrond. “ How wonderfully on topic.  Tell me Calemirien, how do you find life in the Woodland Realm compared to your homeland?”

With shaky breaths, heart hammering beneath your breast you felt as though you were an animal in a hunter’s cage. You should not have spoken, and wanted nothing more than to forget it happened, but you could not be rude and ignore Lord Elrond’s questions, no matter how angry it made your king. To refuse to answer would only shame him further.

Gulping for air you answer, “as with any great change, my lord, it took some adjustments, but now I see the Woodlands as much as my home as Lothlorien ever was. The king and his father have been most gracious, and it’s been my great pleasure to serve them both.”

“And what position do you hold here now?” he inquired curiously.

“I am the head of the king’s household staff,” you reply a little awkwardly, uncomfortable with everyone’s attention on you. You could feel the weight of their eyes on you, especially Thranduil’s. You could feel his gaze burning holes in the back of your head, and could only imagine the look of displeasure painting his regal face.

“It would seem her gifts are better suited for sitting at the council than pouring its wine,” jested Elrond in Thranduil’s direction. “She has a keen mind, and would do well in Imladris as an ambassador from both the Woodlands, and Lothlorien,” he observed leaning back slightly in his chair.

“I often write Calemirien, with the intention of persuading her to return to us in Lothlorien,” declared Haldir much to your annoyance. You had not told the king of Haldir’s failed attempts to arrange your return to Lothlorien. “The Lady Galadriel would seek to make her a royal advisor, or at the very least envoy, should she return to us, but alas,” he shrugged casually. “Her every reply informs us of how happy she is to be serving here in the Woodlands.” Haldir chuckled softly, his laugh light, musical and familiar. Even in your annoyance, you were grateful Haldir sat amongst the other envoys from Lothlorien.

“Yes, well Calemirien has proven herself to be most loyal in her position,” Thranduil commented. Those less accustomed to his nature would find his demeanour perfectly pleasant, but you knew better. You could feel the ice clinging to his every word. 

He would be in one of his moods tonight.

You keep your head low as you curtsey in the King’s direction, thanking him for the compliment, though you refuse to look him in the eye. You return your attentions back to the other council members. “If your lordships will excuse me, I fear I have imposed my presence upon yourselves long enough. I should return to my duties.” You attempt to leave the council meeting with what little grace and tact you could muster.

“Nonsense,” ordered Elrond. “Sit, join us. You have a keen mind, child. Let us hear more of this alliance you have planned.”

Haldir stood immediately, offering you his seat. “Take my seat, Mir,” he ushered you towards the elegantly carved chair. “You were one of us once, after all,” he smiled warmly as you hesitantly took a seat on the soft velvet cushion.

Casting a brief glance in Thranduil’s direction you could see the fire rage behind ice blue eyes, while his face remained impassive and impenetrable. You looked back down at the table, feeling the part of a fool. You did not belong sitting at a council meeting. You had no training on the matters of peace and alliances. You knew how to set tables, and fold bedding.

“Go on child,” Elrond encouraged warmly.

“Um,” you look down at the table until you feel the comfort of Haldir’s hand squeeze your shoulder. Looking up you saw him offering you a warm smile of encouragement, pleading you to tell him what was going inside that head of yours. Clearing your throat you spoke as though you were talking to Haldir, and him alone, not Thranduil, and certainly not the council.

“King Thranduil would be a smart match for the Lady Celebrian, but so would Lord Elrond, as a unification of Silvan and Sindarin cultures. However, we are in the discussion of marriage between two elves, not an exchange of livestock. Lady Celebrian should have some say to whom she marries, as should her future husband. With the council’s permission, a meeting could be arranged, between the lady and her possible suitors, after which all parties convene and decide upon which the first alliance will be made.  After the marriage, the second alliance can be made with the betrothal of the subsequent offspring.  This would provide stability to the first alliance, and bring more into the fold.”

“And what of the suitor who does not win Lady Celebrian’s hand?” inquired another envoy from Imladris.

“They would marry a maiden of their choosing from one of the other kingdoms, creating a minor alliance that the second alliance would then secure,” you explained.   It extended past the noble families as well, for example you, a Silvan elf from Lothlorien could marry a Sindarin elf from Imladris, or at the very least a Silvan elf from the Woodlands.  Building alliances was like building a house - you need a firm foundation before you could build a roof.  It was a tiered system that built itself from the bottom up creating a firm, sound base.

When you finished you couldn’t help but not the beaming smile radiating from Haldir’s direction as he, and the rest of the council, applauded your seemingly natural knack for diplomacy. “You were brilliant. Well done, Mir,” he whispered in your ear as he helped you up from the chair. You bowed in the council’s direction, before slipping through the back curtains as the meeting came to its natural conclusion.

You wanted a few precious moments to yourself, away from the chaos. You could not get over the rush that came after you’d finished with the council. Every eye had been on you, and every ear listening to your every room. You were used to people listening to you, you were the head of the King’s household staff after all, every servant did as you commanded, but these were elves of power, and position. And they actually wanted to hear what you had to say. The feelings consuming you were unbelievable, and you twirled in the corridors with a giddy excitement.

As you returned to the king’s chambers in preparation to help him disrobe for the night, you hummed merrily to yourself. All in all the night had gone better than you could have anticipated. You could only pray the king felt the same way. You weren’t sure how long you waited in Thranduil’s chambers before he appeared.

 

The giddy, happy feeling that made your heart float came crashing down the moment your eyes caught his. He was not happy, quite the opposite actually. The fire behind his ice blue eyes burned, hot and heavy once he held you in his sight. Closing the door behind him he stormed over towards you until his face was inches from yours. As his deceptively cool face approached yours you could feel the rage of his malice radiating in your direction.

“You care to explain what in the name of the stars that was?” he hissed venomously. He remained relatively calm looking. It was an illusion, a clever deception. 

Keeping your head bowed you stood as straight as possible, hands behind your back, fingers toying with each other. “I’m sorry your grace. I did not mean to cause you displeasure.” You falter slightly trying to force the words out beneath the weight of his harsh gaze. You could feel the daggers from his eyes pierce your skin with their sharpened points; you wanted to cry out, but would not allow yourself, to do so would be unprofessional.

“Not only have you made a mockery of me, the realm in which I rule, but you have also called into question my authority as king. Do you know how many of the council members have approached me inquiring as to why I have wasted such a ‘keen mind?’ Claiming I should make my maids advisors, and my advisors maids. Clearly, I have been too trusting with you Calemirien.”

“I meant no offense, your majesty,” you repeat. “I forgot my place. I should have waited until we were in private to offer my advice. My humblest apologies, your majesty.”

“Your mistake was not in advising me in public,” he corrected, “ but in assuming to advise me period. If I saw value in your fool opinions I would have you made one of my counsellors. Have I? Did I make you one of my counsellors without realizing it?  Are you now a Royal advisor, and maid?”

“No your grace.” Your face, a cleverly stoic mask, betrayed neither thought nor feeling. “I am not.”

“I did not think so,” he sniffed dryly. “Do not let false words of encouragement fool you. You are no advisor or counsellor. What you are, is a servant, a nobody. You entered this world a nobody, and you will most likely leave this world a nobody. Your words, and opinions mean nothing to anybody. You would do well to remember that Calemirien. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes my king. I’m sorry your majesty. It will not happen again.” Your reply comes out calmer, and steadier than you feel, grateful for the disguise. You’d been subjected to his anger before, but never had you felt such malice directed to your being.  The promise of crying into your bed later, once you out of anyone’s sight, was your only comfort, and  gave you the strength to remain as stoic as you seemed now.

“No, I suspect it won’t,” he agreed. “Dismissed,” he called sharply over his shoulder, excusing you from his sight.

Standing straight, with as much pride as you could muster, you bow your head and sink in a low curtsey before taking your leave of the king. As you walked quietly towards your meagre accommodations you fought to keep the tears at bay. You could not risk crying out in the open, you must wait until you reached the safety of your chambers for such displays of emotion. So long as you roamed these halls you were still head of staff, and the younger servants still looked to you as a pinnacle of proper behaviour. Rounding the corner you saw the face of the last person you wanted to see in your given state. Haldir.

“Mir?” he greeted cheerily prepared to congratulate you once more on your ‘brilliant performance’ in the council meeting, though the smile quickly fell from his face when he caught sight of your distress. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked, suddenly filled with concern. “Come,” he pulled you in close, draping his long velvet cloak around your shoulders for warmth. “Let us talk,” and he escorted you back to his chambers, where you might have some privacy.

* * *

 

Shortly after dismissing Cala for the night, Thranduil fretted, pacing anxiously in his chambers. He should not have snapped the way he had. He was not angry with Cala; though he was loath to admit it, she had been quite brilliant in the council meeting. He always knew her to be intelligent.  Some of his most intellectual, and engaging conversations had been with Cala while dressing for the day, and disrobing at night.  It was all the talk of her becoming an ambassador for Lothlorien, or Imladris – sending her away from the Woodlands, away from him – that sent him into a state of distress. That coupled with the prospect of his potential marriage to a strange elf maid he’d never met, led to his emotions boiling over and he lashed out at the only person he could. Cala.

Leaning against the back of the chair, the young king stared back at his reflection in the mirror, studying the face staring back at him. _‘Now you look like a king’_  her words rang in his ears as she finished helping him dress for the feast.

He looked the part, though he doubted he acted much like a king tonight. He’d behaved like an impetuous child, fearful that someone else might take his favourite toy away from him. Only Cala wasn’t a toy. She was a person, his friend. And He had made her feel as though she were nothing, a nobody, when he should have been celebrating her triumph with her.  Seizing the nearby pearl and opal encrusted ring dish, the king flung it across the room, venting his frustrations with a loud tormented cry of frustration as it shattered against the wall.

He may be king in title, but he still felt as he did when he was a child – scared, and alone with more responsibilities than he knew what to do with. Throwing himself into the cushioned chair before the mirror, he massaged his temple. The one person he wanted most in the world was the one he had driven away that night with his foul temper.

Come morning he would make things right with Cala.  He had to, he could not bear her thinking he was mad at her.

* * *

 

“Good morning your majesty.”  A strange voice roused Thranduil from his sleep as they threw back the curtains, letting the light pour in.

Grumbling, Thranduil rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he sat up in his bed. Looking at the source of the voice he spotted an unfamiliar male elf standing in his chambers, holding his breakfast tray.

“Who are you? Where’s Cala?” he demanded confused to this strange elf’s presence in his bed chambers, throwing his legs out of the bed, onto the cool floor as he groped around hazily for his dressing robe.

“I’m Cendirion, your grace. Calemirien’s second. Calemirien has been feeling unwell after last night’s council meeting, and has asked me to take her place,” he explained.

Pangs of guilt rippled through the king as he sat at the small table for his breakfast. He had the distinct feeling he might have had something to do with Calemirien’s current state. _Fair enough_  he thought taking a sip of his morning wine. He’d allow her the day off; it would give them some time to let the dust settle before he apologized profusely for his overreaction.

The day carried on as usual. He tended to his duties as host to the council’s envoys, taking Elrond and few others hunting in the woods. He couldn’t help but notice Haldir, the Marchwarden from Lothlorien and Cala’s past, was also absent most of the day.  The king wondered if he was off with Cala somewhere, comforting her, courting her again.  

Her second Cendirion remained annoying close by his side throughout the day, offering him skins of wine when he did not ask for it, and always hovering just out of sight, but Thranduil could still sense his company. The absence of Cala and her joyful humming, and the annoying constant presence of Cendirion, made for a painfully long day. It was a never-ending bombardment of, ‘ _is there any you require your majesty?’ ‘How may I be of service to his majesty?’ ‘A most excellent shot your majesty,’ ‘Does his majesty require more wine?_ ’ The questions, there were so many, and they never ended. Cala was never so pushy. She knew well enough when to keep to herself and when to offer service. It took all his strength not to scream at this bumbling dolt, knowing that if he did if, it would be his great embarrassment and the amusement of his distinguished guests.

By the time the stars came out signalling the end of another day, Thranduil only too eager for bed. The envoys would be leaving come morning, Cala would return to her post, and life in the Woodland Realm would return to normal. At least that was what Thranduil expected would happen.

Sadly, come morning he was proven bitterly wrong.

* * *

 

“Good morning your majesty,” Cendirion greeted in the same nerve gratingly cheerful manner as he threw back the curtains, so he was no longer the only thing intruding Thranduil’s bed chambers.

“What on Earth are you still doing here?” Thranduil grumbled throwing the top blanket over his head to block out the light.

“Calemirien asked me to take over, your majesty,” answered Cendirion.

“Why?” Thranduil snapped. Was this her idea of revenge? Driving him slowly to madness with the constant presence of this idiot? “Is she still unwell?” he asked peeking through the blankets at the stupid grin on the servants face.  _Does he always smile like that or does he do it just to annoy me?_  “And don’t you dare say your majesty in that same tone, or I swear by the stars I will beat you upside the head with that water pitcher,” he pointed a menacing finger in Cendirion’s direction before the elf had a chance to answer the king’s questions.

“Yes your maje . . . grace,” Cendirion corrected himself nervously. “I believe there was a misunderstanding, Sir. When I said that Calemirien asked me to take over for her – I meant permanently.”

“What?” Thranduil demanded, turning rapidly to face the younger elf. “What do you mean she asked you to take over permanently?”

Cendirion opened and closed his mouth several times as though he were speaking, but no such noise came out. Instead he looked like one of the fish Thranduil kept in the ponds in the Royal Gardens, the ones his father loved so much. He stammered out a few strange sounds that might pass for words, if they had been louder than a whisper.

“Never mind. I wish to speak with her. Where is she?” Thranduil demanded, throwing on the nearest tunic and britches her could find. The same dark grey and crimson set he’d worn the day before. Of course, now the idiot chooses to remain silent, Thranduil cursed to himself at Cendirion’s newfound muteness. “For the sake of Valinor, out with it,” he commanded forcefully.

“She was still in the servant’s quarters last I saw of her,” Cendirion whimpered. He’s barely finished the sentence before the king raced out of his chambers with the same determination of a hound who’d just caught scent of its prey. He’d heard rumours of the King’s temper, and mood swings. Calemirien never complained once about them though. If this was the king of a good day, Cendirion had new respect for Calemirien and what she put up with on a daily basis.

Something was wrong. Thranduil could feel it as he raced down the long corridors towards the servant’s quarters. After almost 800 years together Cala had never taken so much as a sick day for a head cold.  Suddenly for her to appoint that dolt to take over for her permanently, something was terribly wrong. It sent his heart racing, and head spinning as endless possibilities coursed through his mind. He needed to find Cala, to talk to her, to apologize to her, and beg her, on hand and knee if need be, for her forgiveness.

“Where is she? Where is Calemirien?” Thranduil thundered, storming into the servant’s quarters robes billowing behind him, in a fluster.

Nemirdis, the head of the kitchen staff, stepped forward after hushing some of the younger elf maids alarmed, and excited, by the king’s abrupt appearance. “She’s not here, my king,” she held her head proudly, but addressed the distressed Thranduil in a gentle, soothing tone. “Calemirien resigned from her post the night of the council meeting. She seeks to return with her kin to Lothlorien. She is said to be bidding her farewells as we speak.”

The king’s cold, impenetrable face softened slightly when he heard the news of Cala’s impending departure. He could not fathom his life without Cala; one day had been excruciating. How could he live a lifetime in her absence? Assuredly, the sun would still rise without her, but his days would be filled with endless dark misery. He needed Cala. He didn’t need her for the work she did, anyone else could do that easily enough – not Cendirion though.   He needed her for what she brought with her, light, warmth, happiness. She gave him courage and strength when he had none; she had comforted him when his father sailed for the undying lands. Out of everyone he had ever known, including his own father, she was the only one who knew how to put up with his mood swings, who stayed by his side even in his darkest times.

He knew where she would be. Without another word he turned on his heels and with long, powerful strides he exited the servant’s quarters as abruptly as he’d entered, praying desperately he would not be too late.

* * *

 

You stood, staring out at the rushing rapids flowing through the gates towards the Celduin. You enjoyed the warmth of the sun on your skin, and the crisp chill of the autumn air as the breeze played with your hair. Even over the rush of the waters below your feet you heard the footsteps approach behind you. You knew exactly who it would be; there was no point in turning around, so you didn’t. Instead you just kept watching the water pouring into the river with its white foaming rapids.  It had been that very spot where you’d first seen him.

“It’s funny,” you say, swallowing some of the pain. “I remember how scared I was upon my arrival in the Woodlands, wondering if I would ever get over the longing I felt for Lothlorien. I was so homesick. I missed my family, my friends, everything. I was terrified by the prospect of being in the royal employ. Terrified that I would make some gross mistake and disgrace myself in front of the Royal family, that I’d be forced home in shame. Now it seems I have grown too comfortable in my position to stay,” you lament, turning to face your king. In title he was only your king for maybe another hour if not less, but you knew in your heart, Thranduil would always be your king.

“Why have you resigned?” Thranduil demanded to know, pale eyes searching your very soul for any plausible explanation for your absence from his life.

“You found an issue with my work; I don’t know how to change myself, so I changed the situation.” You reply, speaking plainly trying to keep the conversation as least personal as possible. “I have been nobody for far too long. It is time I made something of myself,” you add when his gaze on you did not soften.

“I can not let you go.”

“Surely the great King of the Woodland Realm will neither notice, nor mourn the absence of a nobody,” you reply biting back bitter tears. You shed enough of them over your decision, no more.

“I have been blind these past eight hundred years, and in my blindness I have made a most egregious error,” breathed Thranduil stepping closer towards you. “But I see now, Cala. Perhaps for the first time, I see you as you truly are.”

You say nothing, unable to take your tear-stung eyes off the great King as he approached, taking your hand in his.

“You are not nobody Cala. You are everything, my everything.”

Your hand jerked back as though it shocked you with its very touch. Your breaths are shallow as you stagger back under the impact of his words. Certain you have misunderstood his meaning; silently you implore him to explain, not trusting your voice in the moment.

“From the moment you entered my world there was life. And from that hour to this, my favourite time is always the moments in which I am in your company. You are a light; the likes of which I have never known, calling me from the darkness. I speak not as your King, but as a simple elf who has fallen in love with your laugh, your quiet determination, your warmth and kindness, the little songs you hum as you work, and your patient heart, I beg and beseech you, do not return me to such a darkness.”

“But I-” you stammer.

“Please, if you feel as I do, you will not leave. Or if you insist on going, at the very least grant me the permission to follow, for the chance to stand by your side as patiently as you have stood by mine.”

“Your grace, you are a king,” you begin to argue. This talk of following you, and standing by your side – it was madness.

“What I am,” he breathed cutting you off with a soft stroke of your cheek with the pad of his thumb, “is in love. I don’t know when or how it happened, but what I do know is that somewhere along the way I have fallen quite in love with you. You are my sun, my moon, and all my stars, Cala.”

It wasn’t a love that screamed, and presented itself loudly, demanding recognition. It was a gentle, patient love, softly marking its place in his heart with every hummed lullaby and tender smile; the kind of love that had not made itself known until Thranduil feared it might be lost forever.

You stared back at him with a soft unreadable expression before taking a tentative step closer towards him. And while you spoke not a word, your eyes spoke enough to fill volumes, providing the king with great solace.

Pressing his forehead against yours he smiled so warmly, and brightly that the sun might grow envious of its radiance. “So you’ll stay?” he asked in a quiet whisper, not trusting in the strength of his voice not to fail him.

“As if you could run this Palace without me,” you whisper with a chuckle as Thranduil’s face broke out in laughter. You looked up at him with the same kind smile that always made his heart beat a little faster as it swelled deep beneath his breast.

“Thank the stars,” he breathed as he gently cupped your face with shaking palms before brushing your lips with his in a firm, yet sweet and impassioned kiss.

Perhaps your union would not secure the same kind of alliance with Lothlorien the way a marriage to Celebrian could have, but that was on no consequence to Thranduil. He genuinely cared very little about your inferior birth, and the subject of alliances between Silvan and Sindarin elves. The only thing Thranduil wanted was to have you by his side, as you always had been, but now as his wife, his queen. You were the only one he ever wanted, that he needed in his life. He’d never realized what was missing from his life because you had been there all along, patiently waiting for him to wake up and realize the depth of his feelings for you.

As he stood by the river’s edge kissing you in the autumn light, the last words of advice of his father echoed in the young king’s ears, ‘A king should heed the advice of his council, but in the end he must always do what he knows in his heart to be true.’ And he knew in his heart there would be no smarter match, no other more perfect for him, than his Cala.


End file.
